


Sanguinary

by Lucky_Charlie_Tango925



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Virus, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Trauma, Established Relationship, Feels, If You Didn't Read The Tags That's Not On Me, Inspired by Among us, M/M, Minor Graphic Violence, Possible Character Death, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28167435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky_Charlie_Tango925/pseuds/Lucky_Charlie_Tango925
Summary: Sanguinary Virus makes it aboard the Watchtower. Someone is infected.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	Sanguinary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lagyvan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lagyvan/gifts), [Subatlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subatlove/gifts).



> Thanks to both my Beta's [Serephent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serephent/pseuds/serephent) and [eLOCIn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eLOCIn/pseuds/eLOCIn)

They had just returned from a mission in a neighbouring galaxy, quickly going into lockdown and commencing decontamination protocols. They had unclothed, placed their suits into the incinerator, showered and put on their biohazard suits. In the end it was revealed it had all been for nought when the Watchtower alerted them to the fact an airborne contaminant had found its way on board with them. 

The contaminant was unlike any other they had encountered before. Neither the Watchtower mainframe, J’onn, Emil or the Green Lantern Corps could identify it. All they knew was that what they were experiencing matched the stories of a legend they had heard from the Reticulum II galaxy while there. 

The legend stated that when a being was infected by the ‘Sanguinary Virus’ - loosely translated via Hal’s ring - or in other words the ‘Bloodshed Virus’ they would go on a murderous rampage, killing all those they loved with no remorse. The being would not be aware of their actions, or realise what they had done. 

After each killing the being would return to normal, but without the memory of anything they'd done. It was only once they had finally killed everyone they loved, and only then, would the virus leave their system, allowing them access to their obfuscated memories. 

The only silver lining was that the virus only infected a single being at a time.

Over the hours and days that followed, to their horror and frustration, they realised there were no visible signs. No one looked sick, or behaved differently, but slowly more and more members of the team fell victim. All were left too badly injured to say who their attacker was, while the attacker was unaware it was even them. If it weren’t for each person's individual skill set, Bruce knew those injured would already be dead. The league had been lucky so far. Yes, many had been hurt gravely, but no one would die, for now. Those in the medical bay would recover with time, but it wouldn't be soon enough. 

It wouldn’t stop the one infected from striking again. 

From his collapsed position on the ground, Bruce looked to the approaching figure. Though all their biohazard suits were the same, Bruce didn't need to see through the tinted face shield, or need to see the small emblem on the breast to know who was beneath the helmet. The virus didn’t change the person physically, only mentally, so for Bruce it didn’t take much to figure out who it was once he laid eyes on them. There were many super powered individuals within the Justice League, but few moved like Clark. It wasn’t the speed or the build that gave it away. It was the grace. The ability to make such an imposing frame move so seamlessly and flawlessly. 

Knowing there was no longer any reason to protect himself against something he had no chance of beating, Bruce took off his helmet.

As the helmet clinked against the floor of the Watchtower corridor, Clark removed his helmet as well. Andhough Bruce had deduced who patient zero was along the way, it didn’t stop his throat and chest from tightening upon seeing the face of the one person he had come to care for most in the world. 

As his heart broke further, Bruce couldn’t keep his face void of emotion any longer. He wanted to cry, but no tears fell. He did however feel his devastation spread across his features. “Hello, my dear, so it was indeed you all along.” Bruce’s voice came out smooth and silky despite the tightness. He spoke as if he were Brucey Wayne charming a young and beautiful socialite. He didn’t doubt his love could see past such falsities and knew he was anything but that man in that moment. 

In a low, soft and hesitant voice, Clark spoke, his words laced in agony, “I’m sorry, B.” 

Hearing that shook something within him. Clark shouldn't be in pain. He shouldn’t be aware of his actions, shouldn't be mentally present at all, yet there he was, doing something that shouldn’t even be a possibility. It was clearly a losing battle, but still, he was fighting. 

Clark was fighting the virus. 

It made all the "what ifs" run through Bruce‘s mind. What if Clark could overcome the infection? What if by some miracle, a cure was found within the millions of alien archives they had? What if everything would be okay? But just as Bruce started to evaluate those possibilities, he saw the ice slowly drip back into Clark’s eyes, watching as the virus inevitably regained almost all the control it had lost. 

But now, with no one for backup, and only himself between Clark and the Earth below, they were out of time. He was out of time. He couldn’t let Clark lose, he couldn’t let Clark succumb to the virus. If Bruce didn’t do something now, all of the team, all of Clark’s loved ones, his mother, Lois, Jimmy, Perry, they would all suffer. 

For Bruce it wasn’t the thought of their loss that terrified him; it was that the moment Clark completed his objective, and the virus faded away, his memories would return, and the knowledge of his action would leave his love mentally destroyed beyond repair. It was that thought, and that thought alone, that made Bruce accept his fate and what he had to do next. 

After glancing down at his trembling hands one last time, Bruce took a fortifying breath and smiled endearingly at the man who meant everything to him. “It’s okay, Clark, I understand.” 

In no more than a split second, Bruce saw as his words stunned Clark. The man's true self slightly showed through, as if the virus wasn’t even present. Shakily Clark spoke, “You do?” 

Bruce smiled the biggest smile he could force himself to manage, before the tears finally spilled from his eyes. “It’ll all be okay, Baby, just do what you must.” 

With his words, Bruce could see every fiber of Clark’s being fight. The pure agony on his face was like daggers into Bruce’s soul. However, Bruce didn’t back down, he didn’t avert his gaze, he stayed strong and took in what would be the last thing he ever saw. Clark would be the last thing he ever saw, and Bruce was okay with that. He was actually happy. Though he’d never have wished for it, dying at the hands of the man he cherished and loved, was better than all the other ways he had imagined dying.

Screwing his eyes shut, Clark dropped his helmet to the ground with a loud thud, and a tear rolled down his cheek. As he opened them again, he took a step forward and then another, and another, slowly closing the gap between them. As if beckoning a child into a mother’s embrace, Bruce held his arms out, welcoming Clark into them as he knelt down. 

Clark was where he belonged, he was home and so was Bruce.

Just as Clark lay his head on the crock of his neck, Bruce closed his eyes against not only the feeling of Clark’s tears running down his chest and under his suit, but the sharp searing and unendurable pain of Clark’s hand penetrating his skin, his chest, his ribcage and wrapping around his heart. 

Bruce let out a blood curdling scream. He was in excruciating pain, such as he had never before felt in his life. There were no words to describe the insurmountable agony that was Clark softly caressing his beating heart before slowly tightening his grip. 

Held tightly in Clark’s arms for the last time, Bruce fought through the pain, and tried to do what he had to. As he weakly released the clip on his utility belt, he heard Clark whimper, “Please, Bruce.” 

Or maybe he imagined that's what he heard Clark sob through the delirium that was his anguish, because it's what he wanted Clark to say. Even using all the strength he had left, Bruce was too feeble. He'd lost too much blood, and was in too much pain. Just as his fingers lost their grip on the Kryptonite blade he held, Clark lifted his head and turned slightly, careful to ensure he didn’t leave Bruce’s embrace. 

Placing his hand over Bruce's, Clark guided the dagger, driving it through his chest and into his heart. 

“I’m sorry.” Clark spattered, collapsing back into Bruce, and with his dying breath, crushed his heart in one final squweeze, releasing Bruce from his own torture. 

Within each other’s warm embrace, they crossed over into eternity together, neither of them ever knowing a cure was found only moments later.


End file.
